Come Back To Me

I looked around the room, now bare thanks to all of the packing I had been doing lately. The walls, which had once been covered with posters of all of my favorite bands, now seemed lifeless. The purple paint was peeling in places because of how often the furniture had been moved around, but other than that the room looked as good as new. The black carpet cushioned my feet as I sat down on what was left of my bed. It was an ugly bed, and always had been. The once white frame was now a dirty eggshell color and the broken mattress barely supported my weight. It was a blessing that I was moving out because I could finally buy myself a decent mattress.

There was a quiet knock at the bedroom door before it was pushed aside to reveal my mother. Her mousy brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. She looked around at all of the boxes piled up in my closet before giving me a sad smile. I knew she wasn’t happy about me moving out, much less about the fact that I was moving 1500 miles away. But Tempe was where I belonged and my mother knew that. She had watched me struggle to survive here in Chicago and knew that life for me was easier where I was familiar with the land.

Granted, I had gotten a bit used to the cooler temperatures here. In fact, I doubted that most of the clothes I was taking with me would even be suitable for Tempe weather. Most of my clothes were jeans and dark colored shirts, but I’m a realist and know that it would be a waste to go buy a whole new wardrobe just because I’m moving to a warmer climate. The warmth isn’t even the real reason I’m moving back to Tempe after five years. The real reason is a certain blue-eyed bassist by the name of Garrett.